


For the Motherland

by DeadlyArpeggio



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlyArpeggio/pseuds/DeadlyArpeggio
Summary: An Overwatch Political-Thriller that asks several questions:How far is someone willing to go to protect their country?What does it take for someone to betray the one they love?What decides who gets to live and who doesn't?What happens when those below are mere puppets to those above?And when the first shots are fired: who is truly to blame?





	For the Motherland

Chapter I

-Katya-

 

_What would that do to the future of Russia?_

The picture frame was cold against her palms. It took a moment for her to realize that she was alone. Someone was pounding at the door.

_What would that do to the future of Russia?_

Her hands were shaking. Two of her guards lay on the floor, their bullet-riddled bodies smelled like blood. The pounding on the door was replaced by a hiss.

_What would that do to the future of Russia?_

Sparks flew from the smoking frame as the door was launched from its hinges. It crashed against the other wall. More guards rushed in. She began to weep.

_What would that do to the future of Russia?_

“Chairman Volskaya!” some distant voice cried. “Chairman Volskaya are you alright!?”

When the picture she held cracked, the sound was louder and more horrible than any breaching charge or gunshot. She looked down. She hadn’t realized how tight she was holding it until she saw the whiteness fading from her knuckles. The small, innocent girl in the picture was crossed out by a jagged, angry line of broken glass.

_What would that do to the future of Russia?_

_She_ was the one who fought for her country. _She_ had been the one to do what needed to be done, sacrifice what needed to be sacrificed. _She_ was the only hope _the Motherland_ had left. _She_ was the future of Russia.

“Chairman?”

But now it was becoming increasingly clear: she _was_ the future of Russia, but not now, _not anymore…_

Her eyes glanced up at the sea of expectant faces, as they were all she could bare to lift.

_Stop crying._

“Get me out of here,” she muttered. “I don’t care how or where I go, just get me away from here.”

_Stop._

_Crying._

And she did. Strength, or the political impression of it, was all she had left. She could not sit and cry. And she could not let them, whoever they were, whoever _she_ —her ‘friend’— was, know that they had hurt her.

She lifted her head this time. “I said get me the _fuck_ out.”

They obliged.

She was escorted across several catwalks on her way to the cargo bay. She watched from above as the wounded or lifeless bodies of her employees —some guards, some techs, and some interns, barely out of high school— were being stacked in crates, ready to be identified and shipped back to their families and homes _if_ those families and homes were still intact at all.

Katya tried to make out their faces. Beyond the techs and guards she had expected to remember, she surprised herself by recalling one of the interns. Katyusha. She was in her early twenties and wanted to further her education in engineering. Katya had interviewed her personally. She was ambitious, but she had the intelligence and capability to buy her that right.

Or, at least she used to.

Until a set of handheld shotguns shredded that future to hell.

They passed into a hall. Part of her still wanted to look back. To call out to the bodies. To wake them up. The other part was glad she didn’t get the chance to confirm what she already knew.

“How many?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“How many are dead?”

“Forty-three total.” The number hit like a mallet to the gut.

“How many were security officers?”

“Just under half.”

Losing hired guns, she could deal with. They were hired to fight. But that mean over half of the casualties were just people who had arrived to work. Calibrate touch-screens, connect wires, record malfunctions. Not die.

“And what about our interns? Or anyone who joined on our scholarship program?”

“Unfortunately, they were all on the deck where the fighting broke out.”

“All of them?”

“I’m afraid so. Only two were shot, the other eight were caught in a resulting electrical fire.”

Katya gritted her teeth. “God damn it!”

They had reached the cargo bay where a military transport had been prepared. She boarded alone.

The picture of her daughter was still clutched in her hands. A reminder of what was at stake. She needed protection. She needed allies. She needed to stop Sombra.

But it was also a question: _what would that do to the future of Russia?_

 

The view from her office was eerily similar to the view from the transport window: the destruction of the second omnic crisis shown in brilliant whites and grays. She turned from the window to address the woman to her front.

“Do you know why you are here?” she asked flatly.

The other figure stepped forward from the shadows. Patriotic pride gleamed from the face adorned by a scarred eye and short, pink hair. “I believe I do,” the newcomer answered.

“Good,” Katya said. “Now, when you hear the information I’m about to tell you, I want you to think very carefully about your choices.”

The newcomer nodded.

“You can either help me remove this threat, or you can betray me and give this information to the world. But I want you to ask yourself:” she leaned in closer and spoke.

_“…what would that do to the future of Russia?”_


End file.
